From: Ned Marandino <nedg@ricochet.net>
Newsgroups: rec.sport.basketball.pro
Subject: The Ongoing Saga of Oostertag the Pale
Date: Fri, 11 Apr 1997 11:23:11 -0700
Organization: Retired
Message-ID: <334E818F.3387@ricochet.net>


And so it has been told as it passeth years before, in the hinterlands
of Kansas.  The Viceroy Williams, leader of the hoops militia known as
the Kansas Jayhawks was a reknowned sage of the annual amateur campaign
to win the National Banner.  But it was widely whispered "Why hath he
placed such trust in Oostertag, The Pale and Puffy?  Doth he not see
that Oostertag hath no heart for battle?  That he careth not for the
labors of strengthening the physique and building endurance?  That he
moveth with all the dispatch of a loaded wagon of hay?  That he even
suffereth from Asthma and especially that he giveth not a hoop for the
National Banner but prefereth to fish in quiet waters?"

All these complaints were vigorously made known to the Viceroy Williams
by the energetic scribes known as the Town Criers.  Williams sayeth in
reply "Verily, I am also troubled by these matters, but yet I must put
forth the effort to try to change him because he standeth a full seven
feet and four inches in stature and is not exceedingly awkward."

But alas, the campaign for the annual national banner went for naught in
the final trial when Oostertag the Pale and Puffy was soundly bested by
Montross the Mediocre of far Carolina.

And so Oostertag came of the age when he must leave the environs of
Kansas and earn his bread.  Many advisors came unto him to offer to
arrange for him to join the hoops militias that campaign for the
annual professional banner .  "But all I really want to do is relax and
fish, I have no enjoyment in all the sweat and strain these hoopsters
seem to suffer gladly.  What is gained by striving for a banner that,
even if won, must be returned a year hence and battled for all over
again?  This folly passeth all understanding!"

"Mayhaps," sayeth the advisors in unison, "but thinketh!  Yon hoops
campaigns payeth much gold to the militia men, even if the banner be not
won.  And even after sharing some gold with your choice of advisor and
with the King, there will be much gold left over so that you will only
need to campaign for a few winters.  Then you will have enough gold to
fisheth at thy heart's content and never again shall thy brow break a
sweat."

"Hmmmmm.  I get thy point!" respondeth Oostertag, whose brain be not as
slow as his foot.

And so it passeth that Oostertag went before the mighty council known as
the NBA Draft and was eventually summoned to join the militia of far
Utah by the Viceroy Sloan.  "Art thou daft??" cried the Utah Town Criers
to the Viceroy, "He careth not for battle, he will just taketh the gold
and stroll!"  The Viceroy Sloan sayeth in reply "Verily, I am also
troubled by these matters, but yet I must put forth the effort to try to
change him because he standeth a full seven feet and four inches in
stature and is not exceedingly awkward."

And so Oostertag the Pale and Puffy joined the camp of the Utah hoops
militia and came to know his fellows.  He found them to be unlike
himself.  They were a strangely fervent bunch, who had mostly come from
humble beginnings.  Malone the Deliverer of the Mail, had been passed
over by ten Viceroys in the draft before being mercifully adopted by
Utah.  Hornacek the Sly Harrasser, a deadly marksman, had not even been
sponsored during his amateur days at Iowa State and had come unbidden to
their militia.  Pass the Bacon Stockton, of far off tiny Gonzaga, had
been tried and found wanting for the quadrennial Olympia Hoops Campaign
by the reknowned Viceroy Knight of Indiana.

Yet these fellows joined in unfailingly dedicated annual efforts to try 
to win the Banner for Utah.  They made the most of their skills and 
slyness.  They copied fine strategies to minimize their individual 
faults, many of these strategies learned years ago in painful lessons 
administered by Laimbeer the Treacherous of Detroit.  "What ho, mighty 
Oostertag" they cried in unison, "we needeth thy support to fill our 
weakest middle so that we may finally achieve the grail of our dreams.  
Thou must gird thy loins, strengthen thy flagging lungs, learn to lift 
thy feet from the very firmament, get thy brain in gear and fight 
fiercly.  For after all, thou standeth a full seven feet and four inches 
in stature and art not exceedingly awkward."

"Whew, getteth thou a life, these fellows just doth not see the big 
picture." thought Oostertag to himself, "the next few years shalt be a 
drag if they keepeth up this harangue.  But yet, they are all fine 
fellows, fellows who standeth together as one, fine friends to be 
counted on in times good and bad.  Could it be that their pursuit is 
worthy?  That the memory of one Banner won bravely, even if returned a 
year hence, could bring lasting joy for a lifetime, a memory to cherish 
in later years while drowning a worm in a fine lake?  It doth make me 
wonder."

This tale to be continued a moon or so hence.

NedG